The Hanged Man
by Tenoh
Summary: A dream-like portrait of Subaru as he discovers the power Seishirou has over him, even after 5 years... a very different take. Yaoi warnings.


**The Hanged Man**

** Author's Note: I think fanfics written in first person are really boring. And here I've written one myself. But read on and you may find that this Subaru/Seishirou fanfic is like nothing you've ever read. If there are questions about the Tarot Readings, or questions in general, please email me at tenoh_.com. Rated PG-13/R for "adult situations." Thank you and enjoy. And duh, I don't own any of these characters or the Tarot readings or anything because CLAMP and other creative people thought them up, not I. I wish I had, but of course I didn't and just don't sue me, OK? AGH! And yaoi warnings ahoy! YAOI YAOI YAOI YAOI!

*

I am solitude. For the past five years I have been just this, but now it's time for a change. The card tells me so. I never doubt that card.

The air is thick with smoke and laughter, and the setting sun make sit seem as though the entire world is ablaze with fire. I lean against a wall, alone, watching the other partygoers dance wildly into the twilight from the shadows. The music swells and with it a hundred sweaty bodies sway mere inches apart- most not even. It pulses through my head and blood like a drug. Harshly addictive, it pulls even me onto the dance floor.

I've changed a lot in five years. I swing in and out of various bouts of depression like the phases of the moon, one minute suicidal, and the next drinking deep from the cup of life. I don't think about much anymore. Thinking isn't necessary. If I think, I poison myself with worry and hate and despair. Times like these, I am free and my thoughts flow as they please. This is not thinking. This is being. I also surprise myself by arriving at parties like these, seeming so out of place and yet blending in quite easily.

The tempo quickens and with it the temperature rises. It is artificial music, techno. Music made only to be danced to and nothing else. This is digital heat.

I am always alone these days, even on the dance floor. Surrounded by so many people, not one of them a friend or an acquaintance. I grind my boyish, almost feminine hips along with the other dancers, letting the music carry my body upon a wave of sound. Since her death, she has become part of me. She no longer lives and breathes, but I do so for both of us. I am androgynous and I am ice.

It is night now. Paper lanterns shed a gentle glow on the scene, reflecting off of silver and black. Dancing makes me tired, but I am a machine and so I continue. I drink in the starlight, but it does no good at quenching this unbearable thirst that the heat of the night has caused me. Sweat has already softened the once stiff, starched collar of my simple white shirt. Black slacks were not meant to be worn dancing in the height of summer. For a moment I consider stopping to get a drink, but then I see him.

He slithers through crowds of people, a hunter after his prey. I know he sees me and I can tell he knows I've seen him. I only turn, shaking my hips more wildly and on the inside I am grinning. He believes me to be his prey, but little does he know that I have become a hunter as well. We are both dragons, and dragons do not hunt dragons. He approaches me, glowing with sweat like a god. I stare into his golden eye. He tries to melt me by returning the heated gaze, but I am ice hardened by five years of solitude. I am permafrost.

This man, who in truth seems like such a stranger, puts two hands on my hips and presses his pelvis against mine. I am not afraid of him. We continue to lock eyes as we move as one in time to the music. He is older, and yet the golden lantern lights make him shine brilliant like a youth. He is sinew and fluid, and I can see the muscles in his arms ripple as he grips me tighter. The music changes, slowing down just a bit, and we are attached at the hips. Our sweat mingles. For a moment we are one.

So drugged on music and heat am I that I barely hear the soft words whispered into my ear. He pulls me from the dance floor like a puppet, weaving through the crowds to the bar where sake and beer flows like water. I never let my gaze slip as we sip our sake- chilled, as it should be in the summer. He watches me as well, obviously amused. Cup after cup is poured and not a word exchanged. He grins devilishly and I can feel a smooth smile breaking across my usually tight features. He pays, always the gentleman, and grasps my hand firmly. We stagger drunkenly to his vehicle, our skin melting into the black leather like candle wax.

The night is humid and blazing hot, but he cruises at such speeds so that we are cooled. Even in the front seat within a confining seat belt, I cannot sit still. I am fearless, being so close to him, and he laughs when he sees my eyes twinkle for him as they once did so long ago. I know that we are going to his apartment. And I don't care.

It's quite similar to his old one. Dark and dusty, yet strangely pleasant. I wander down the tiny cramped corridors, taking everything in, familiar and new, with my unfocused eyes. He follows me and wraps his arms around my slim waist, pressing hot kisses against my throat and collarbone. I pull away, mumbling something like, "Wait a sec." I'm looking for something.

I want to prove to him that I've changed. That even though there will always be an enormous rift between us, I am not the same and never will be. I'm not a child anymore. He is confused but I return his kisses and ask for just a moment to look.

His bedroom is set up exactly like it used to be. I'd only been in his room enough times to be able to count them on one hand, but I know exactly where to look. He sits on the edge of his double bed as I kneel and pull open the bottom drawer of his dresser. Inside there are the familiar black robes, neatly folded, and a thick stack of black ofuda. He keeps those all over the apartment, if I am correct, but I can see him wince as I pick them up and remove them, setting them on the wooden floor. Onmyouji never use the cards, for we have no need for Western practices, but every smart onmyouji has a deck for a certain unspoken reason.

The tarot cards are surprisingly old and worn, much more delicate than simple paper ofuda. I shuffle through them, looking for one specific card in the deck of 78. It was the card that represented me, as I had found through using them over the past five years. I like the cards. They bear a sense of comfort that I cannot describe. I flip past such cards as Death, the Nine of Swords, Strength, and the Nine of Wands. These are of no concern to me right now. Finally, I find the one card that I want to show him. Preceding it is another card full of meaning, so I take both from the deck and set it back in the drawer.

He is curious as to what I was searching for. Pulling me onto his lap, he takes the cards from my fingers and studies them for a minute. I lean my cheek against his sweaty temple, awaiting his reaction.

"The Hanged Man," he begins in a low, seductive voice, "representing change, or the delay between significant events. Sacrifice." He smiles and strokes my backbone mechanically, handing me The Hanged Man so he might see the other card. A breath of laughter escapes his lips. "The Two of Cups. A card of love. The beginning or renewal of a friendship. Passion. Understanding. Union."

There is a meaning in these cards that I've chosen for him. One representing me, and one representing us. He takes the cards and sets them on the pillow. I know what will follow. He crushes his mouth against mine, and I welcome its sticky warmth even in the heat of the apartment. I pull him to me and we fall back onto the bed. The moments that follow are all a blur of heat and sweat and flesh against flesh. Before long it is just that, flesh and no clothes at all. I am shameless, flaunting my smooth, young body like a Greek hero.

We shift, and I am on hands and knees facing the pillows. Sweat and dark hair falls into my eyes. I can see his shadow looming over me in the dim light. He kisses me from head to toe, then enters me with force. I freeze. Pain screams through my body, but I hardly notice it. He is smiling and I don't even have to look to be able to tell because I know he sees what I see.

Two colorful cards upon white pillowcases. The Hanged Man and the Two of Cups. Two cards that have special meaning when placed face up. But they are not. He shows me now that he still has complete dominance over me. I cannot deny it.

Two colorful cards placed upside-down upon white pillowcases. At that angle I can only see them for their reverse meanings. "The Hanged Man, reverse meanings," he breathes into my ear. "Preoccupation with the ego. False prophecy. Useless sacrifice." Still he kisses me. I shudder and a sob wells up from deep inside of me. "The Two of Cups, reverse meanings. False friendship. Troubled relationship. Crossed desires. Opposition. Misunderstanding." I can't tell the difference between the sweat that has flowed into my eyes and the tears that flow freely now. I feel sixteen years old again.

Perhaps I play a better Fool than a Hanged Man.

*

** Ending Note: I really think people need to take more creative liberties when they write fanfics. Otherwise they all end up sounding the same. I wrote this after I finished reading Francesca Lia Block's novel The Hanged Man for the third time. It's a really good book, I suggest you read it if you enjoy this story. Ok, I know this story doesn't sound exactly like something that might happen between our favorite couple, but it's creative and different and so I am proud of it. I also think that people think X-Subaru is way too much like he was back in TB. He's not an innocent, blushing sixteen-year old anymore. He's cold and distant and even Seishirou can hardly get beneath that hard mask. I don't know when this is supposed to take place, but I guess somewhere before Kotori's death. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading. Meh, and that was my first yaoi too! I'm so proud!

*Special Note: All Tarot readings come from my Universal Waite Tarot Deck, illustrated by Pamela Colman Smith. The first several scans of these cards can be found on my webpage at .com/destined_x1999 under X Scans, then under the individual's tarot card. I don't own the rights to these either, so please don't sue me.


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